


Between

by PeppyDragon



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-18 01:55:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11864223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeppyDragon/pseuds/PeppyDragon
Summary: - Takes place during Act II -Varric Tethras hasn’t seen Marian Hawke in weeks.  Since her mother’s murder, the dark-haired object of Varric’s affections has been painfully absent from his life.  That changes after a long night of drinking with Fenris. Varric returns to his room at the Hanged Man to find Hawke waiting for him, drunk and caught between her remorse and her need for comfort.





	Between

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything!
> 
>  **Notes: SMUT!** Also some mild angst from Hawke and friend-to-lover jitters from Varric.
> 
> The story's song inspiration goes to ["Young Blood," by The Naked and Famous.](https://open.spotify.com/track/25nzKGDiua1lE9Qo5V19GL) Please enjoy!

Varric Tethras had spent most of the night with Fenris, the elf needing company and the dwarf having nothing better to do than share better wine than those found at the Hanged Man. Varric’s nights had been quiet recently - Marian Hawke had been wrapped in her sorrow at her mother’s passing, holing herself up in the quiet mansion, Bodahn turning away all who sought her.  Varric understood the pain.  He had lost those close to him before, as well.  Even so, Hawke had gone through so much - her brother’s death, her sister being forced into the Circle, and now her mother’s murder…. It was more than a single person of weaker stock would be able to live with.

Varric trusted Hawke not to do something stupid - to take off on a mission to kill as many bandits on the Wounded Coast as she could, by herself with only her daggers and a scowl.  To roam the streets at night, daring what few gangs they hadn’t eradicated to attack her.  To head to the Red Light District, to find a shady hovel, to fall victim to the deadlier vices she had never partaken in before but might succumb to in her grief.  He wasn’t sure if such trust in the heartbroken rogue was misplaced, but he could only hope she would eventually peek her head out of her despair.  He hoped that she would eventually come back to the people who cared for her, who loved her.

He hoped that she would eventually come back to him.

It was late, later than he had initially thought.  Fenris had blocked all of the windows throughout the estate, leaving it a perpetual dark and depressing cave, and it seemed to upset Varric’s perception of time.  Varric hadn’t been to the thaigs often, or the Deep Roads, but Fenris’ darkened mansion was enough to make him remember them clearly.  He always felt slightly clammy, somewhat anxious, each time he entered the home.  Leaving to the fresh air of Hightown was a relief.

Varric thought of trying Hawke’s mansion while he was nearby but decided against it.  It was late, and she hadn’t wanted to see anyone for weeks. He had promised himself to honor her wishes, to not press, to give her time and space.  It was becoming a physical pain, knowing she locked herself away like some hermit, knowing that he couldn't see her face or hear that clear bell of a laugh.

He made his way through the streets, always aware of his surroundings, always ready to pull Bianca at the slightest hint of an ambush.  But Hawke had done well to clear Hightown before her mother was taken - the streets were clean and quiet, the homes dark.  He made it to the Hanged Man without incident, feeling himself relax.  He wasn’t sure what time it was, but it had to be well after midnight.  The bar was all but empty, Corff having departed for the night and leaving the bar to Marda, a gruff woman with a short temper but heavy hand when pouring.  Varric nodded hello to her, and she grunted, “There’s a drunk in your room.”

Varric blinked at her, confusion coloring his voice.  “And you let them stay there?”

Marda shrugged nonchalantly.  She looked as if she couldn’t force herself to care less even if her life depended on it.  “Seen you chatting with her before, assumed it was all right.”

Varric sighed.  “Isabela.”  He requested two tankards of ale and headed toward his room. The woman - no doubt plastered and bemoaning her fate - would complain about her lack of access to the sea and her inability to find an attractive partner to bed with for the night. And then she would pass out, leaving him alone in the quiet. But when he pushed his door open with a foot and stepped inside, he was surprised to find that the drunk was not Isabela but Marian Hawke.  She was sitting at his table, arms crossed on the wood, her face pressing into them.

Varric assumed she was asleep and set the tankards on the table quietly.  He had more wine than advisable at Fenris' mansion, and his head was fuzzy enough to consider waking her up, moving her to the bed, and curling up beside her.  They had slept together before - just slept, curled up with one another in the Deep Roads for comfort and warmth.  Their bodies had fit together rather well in spite of the height difference and Varric’s stockiness.  Varric remembered that he had slept better than he had in years, his face pressed into the feathery softness of her hair, arm curved around the sharp dip of her waist.

He had fallen for Hawke long ago - long before the Deep Roads.  The moment her icy eyes had turned to him those years ago, standing in Hightown and trying to determine how to fund his expedition… he was enchanted.  Everything about her - her flippant attitude, her ease, her blue eyes and her red lips… she was a masterpiece. She was something out of an ancient painting, something akin to a trickster god or desire demon.

As Varric moved to the fire, trying to decide what to do with the rogue passed out on his table, she muttered, “Took you long enough.  I thought I was to die of old age waiting.”  Varric chuckled, turning his attention back to her.  She was still folded in on herself, her voice rasping and muffled by her arms.  

“I wasn’t aware you planned to grace me with your perfect presence, or I would have told Fenris to drown his sorrows by himself.”

Hawke moaned softly, finally raising her head and turning in the chair to look at him.  Her eyes were bloodshot - from drinking or lack of sleep, he wasn’t sure.  “I am not certain what you did for the Maker to curse you with two morose, brooding drunks in one night.”

“It's more of a blessing. I love drama and drink.”  Her genuine laugh pleased him more than it should have and he moved back to the table, pushing a mug her way and taking the other, loitering beside her chair.  “Do you want to talk or just drink?” he asked, voice lower, softer.

She got to her feet and shinnied past him, her hip brushing against his arm and making his fist clench.  She had a habit of doing that - brushing against him suddenly, making his breath hitch in his lungs.  He shook it off, clearing his mind of it and following her to the chairs in front of the fireplace.  They sat in silence for a while, Hawke sipping from her tankard and watching the flames.  She finally opened her mouth, her words halting.  “I couldn’t stand to be alone in that house one more night.  Knowing what everyone thinks of me - the coward who can’t even face her friends. I needed out, Varric… out of that estate, our of this city. I wish someone would pick a destination for me to go, to get away. Anywhere but here.”

Varric could have pointed out that her solitude was her fault, that she could have had any of her friends over at any point and not been alone.  That, if she wanted to leave, all she had to do was go.  But that wouldn’t help her, that would only force her to regret more than she already did.  So Varric cleared his throat and did what he did best.  He told a story.  “Remember that time you got stuck in a barrel during a fight at the Docks?”

"Andraste's ass," Hawke snorted, covering her face with a hand.  “Varric, please don't remind me.”

“You were shouting, blood rage filling you, cutting slaver’s throats left and right.”

“Varric,” she laughed, her cheeks flushing.  “You're shit at comforting. This is not making me feel better.”

But Varric knew that it was, so he pressed on.  “You were like a god, moving like the wind.  Never saw anything so beautiful, to be honest.  And then a slaver tossed a crate and you, and then a barrel, and you lost it.  You snarled and threw yourself at him… and stepped into the barrel, boot smashing through, foot caught.  And then what happened?”  Hawke watched him, lips pursed while trying to hide the smile that was coloring her cheeks.  “Hawke, come on, you gotta finish this.  What happened next?”

“I fell.”

“You did. Right on that blood-spattered face.”

“Into a puddle of blood.”

“Which your broken nose added to.”

“Not to mention I cut my shoulder with my dagger,” she chuckled, a hand sliding under the deep V of her tunic, tracing over the scar on her collarbone.  The tunic shifted, displaying more of the dark crimson breast band beneath and the scarred skin of her upper chest.

Varric tried not to focus on the milky skin, turning his eyes back to the fire.  “My point is, you’ve done more embarrassing things than needing time alone.  None of us think less of you.”

They drank in silence until their tankards were empty.  Varric stood to get another round but Hawke waved him away.  “Let me.  Unless you need to sleep - I know how exhausting Fenris’ moods can be.”

“Sleep is overrated,” he murmured, handing her his tankard.  Hawke chuckled and took their mugs toward the bar. Varric took the opportunity of her absence to move into the bedroom, pulling a fresh tunic out of his bureau and stripping of his red one.  He had been living in it for close to three days, not caring enough to change.  After all, who was he trying to impress?  Hawke had been hidden away from him, untouchable.  He took a moment to wash under his arms and over his chest, returning the wet cloth to the wash basin on his bureau.

He hadn’t heard her enter the room - she was eerily silent, even for a rogue.  Varric had guessed on many occasions that she would turn to an assassination specialization, but the woman was stubbornly wasting her talents, trying to live from day-to-day without worrying much about the future.  Not that Varric was in any place to judge.

When Varric slid the tunic on and turned, there she was, watching him.  Her pale eyes rose from where they had been loitering on his body to his face. She smirked, lips tilting in that delicious way of hers.  “Making yourself pretty for me?  Had I known, I would have cleaned up, too.”

Hawke was joking, of course.  She was always flawless even at her worst, even spattered in blood, even howling from a broken or dislocated bone, from a deep knife wound to the gut or shoulder, from whatever healing spells Anders was using that somehow caused more agony than relief during the process.  Hawke stood in front of him in her burgundy tunic and tight, lambskin breeches, her black boots caressing her slender calves.  She was gorgeous, as always, and Varric felt his chest tighten as the same old feelings flooded over him.

Instead of complimenting her, he did what he did second-best.  He teased her.  “Well, shit, Hawke, everyone already thinks you live in a gutter. I mean, look at the company you keep.”

She snorted and moved into the bedroom, handing him a tankard and sitting at the edge of his bed.  She leaned back on the one hand, the other bringing her mug to her lips.  Varric watched her, suddenly unsure, suddenly wary.  She was still smirking at him, but something had slithered into her gaze, something dark.  Her pupils had widened with what looked like, dare he think it, arousal.

“Did you miss me?” she asked suddenly, lips tilting around the mouth of her tankard.

Varric couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it.  “That’s possibly the dumbest thing you’ve ever asked me, Hawke.”

“Well, that says volumes,” she admitted, leaning her head back and looking at the canopy above her.  “I’m…. I’m sorry I turned you away before.  I just….”

“I know.”

Silence descended again, and Varric sighed before lowering himself beside her on the bed. He maintained a comfortable distance in spite of his desire to touch her arm with his, feel her thigh against his.  Instead of giving into his desires, he chuckled and said, “Fenris was asking about you tonight.  I think he might be smitten.”

Hawke laughed, taking a long pull from her mug.  “As is Anders.”

“As is Isabela,” he added.

“Isabela is smitten with most everyone,” Hawke corrected, making Varric laugh.  “She’s had a few sex dreams involving the three of us, by the way.  She seemed quite pleased with them, too.”

Varric nearly choked on his ale.  “Well, can you blame her? We are certainly the best looking of the group.”

“Isn’t that the truth,” Hawke snickered, finishing her tankard.  She waited for Varric to finish his before asking, “Another?”

“I think I’ve had enough for at least a week,” he admitted, his fuzzy head becoming increasingly swimmy.  “You know I never turn down a free drink, but we should probably stop while we’re ahead.” _While I still have enough sense not to touch you. Not to kiss you._ He took her tankard and got up, moving the mugs to the table.

“You’re no fun tonight,” Hawke moaned from the other room.  When Varric returned, he found her still sitting, watching him intensely.  “Are you getting too tired to keep me company?”

“Never,” Varric said, coming to stand in front of her.  “How about you?  Need me to walk you back to the mansion?”

She groaned, leaning over and resting her head on his shoulder.  He tried to keep his breathing calm as her lips moved against his tunic, her breath caressing across his bared chest.  “Can I stay here tonight?  I can sleep on the floor, or… since the bed _is_ rather large….”

Varric wrapped his arms around Hawke, and she leaned into him heavily, her face tucking into the crook of his neck.  He took his time to breathe steadily, to not give away how her proximity, the herbed smell of her hair, and the slightly dark perfume on her neck was making him dizzy.

“I needed time away from it all. But now....”

“I know,” he whispered into her hair, one of his hands sliding to the small of her back, pulling her in closer.  His other hand cupped the back of her neck, her hair tickling across his fingers. She had needed time, but now she needed compassion. Now she needed her best friend.

Her lips pressed against his throat and his innocent assumption died. He knew she could feel his heart hammering, the blood rushing through his jugular.  As much as he tried to control it, his breath was becoming shallow, quickening. His abdomen clenched with desire, making him hate himself. His control was slipping too quickly.  “I’ve missed you,” she said softly, lips trailing down to his collar.

“Hawke-”

“I know,” she whispered, eyelashes fluttering against his skin.  “I know it’s dumb. I know I am not… what you want.”

His hand tightened on the back of her neck, making her breath hitch, bathing his throat in warmth as it sighed out of her.  “That’s not -- Hawke, you’re drunk and being stupid.”

She pulled away and bit her lip.  She looked unsure and embarrassed.  “I should go.”

“Stay,” he murmured, stepping back.  “I’m going to take these tankards back to Marda.  Get to bed and get some sleep.”

“Will you…?”

“I’ll be in soon,” he said soothingly, trying to keep his mind calm and his voice calmer.  He turned away from her before he could make the mistake of the century and ruin their perfect friendship with one ill-advised night.  He collected the mugs, taking them back to the bar.  He loitered there for a while, asking for a shot of whiskey in an attempt to collect his thoughts.  Hawke had expressed some interest, but it was probably the kind that a heartbroken person showed when needing someone to hold them.  It was probably nothing more than Hawke's need for her best friend to be there for her.  

He sighed, finishing his drink before heading back to his room.  He put the darkening screen over the fireplace, the slotted vents giving off an ambient orange glow.  He moved through the main room, blowing out candles as he went.  When he arrived at the bedroom, Hawke was already under the covers, her hair, bared shoulders and a peek of her red breast band the only things Varric could see of her.

He undressed to his smallclothes, neatly folding his tunic and breeches before sliding between the covers and blowing out the candle on his side of the bed.  He laid there for what felt like an eternity, staring up at the dark shadow of the canopy. He thought of all the ways the night could have gone wrong - the mistakes he could have allowed Hawke to make, the mistakes he could have allowed _himself_ to make.  As much as he loved her, as much as he wanted to be hers, as much as he wanted to be the one to make her sorrow fade… Varric knew it wouldn’t last.  He knew he wasn’t what she wanted - probably not even what she needed.

And there was always Bianca - in a way.  There was no way he could ever be with her, not wholly, and he had accepted that fact long ago.  She was too good for him, better than anyone else, even.  She was brilliant, she was sensual, and she was mysterious. But even though Bianca was everything that had moved Varric’s heart for so many years, somehow it had faded since Hawke came into his life.  It had all begun to change once the larger-than-life human with a quick tongue and even faster blades showed up and tore his life apart with a single smile.

He loved his best friend.  He loved her in a way he shouldn’t. But how could one ever hope to control one’s heart? It was a theme of Varric’s - anyone who had read his romance serials knew that.  Hawke might have even known, given how many of his books littered her study.

As if sensing his mounting anxiousness, Hawke turned toward him, moving across the bed to curl up under his arm, head tucked on his chest, a hand in the thicket of his chest hair.  She said nothing and fell asleep in mere seconds, leaving Varric’s heart thundering and his head more confused than before.

His arm wrapped around her, hand on her ribs. _This is just like those nights in the Deep Roads,_ he reminded himself as he laid there with her breath caressing across his chest. _There's nothing to read into here. This is just like those nights in the Deep Roads._

He fell into an uneasy slumber, his new mantra ringing through his head.

 

* * *

 

He awoke with a start; he was sure he hadn’t dozed except for the fact that Hawke was no longer asleep and her lips were kissing their way up his chest and along his neck, eyelashes fluttering across the stubble on his jaw. “Hawke-” he tried, voice rasping as he gently grabbed her shoulders, trying to push her back.  “Hawke, what-”

She collapsed against him, nearly knocking the breath from his lungs, her face on his shoulder. “There's something here. You can't tell me there isn't something here.”

Varric swallowed.  Her voice was so small.  Her grief had cloaked her in uncertainty.  “Hawke, you're not feeling well.”

“I need you,” she whispered.  “I know you feel it, too.  I see the way you watch me.  It's the same way I watch you, Varric. How can you not see it?”

Varric swallowed again, gently guiding her down, so she was lying on her back, huffing at the ceiling.  He leaned over her, watching her eyes through the orange glow still filtering from the fireplace.  “Tell me.”  When she only stared at him, he sighed. “No bullshit, Hawke. What do you want? And how long do you want it to last?”

“Varric... I've been so scared to ruin this, to ruin us. But with Mother’s death…. We could die any day, Varric. I don't want to spoil us, but I don't want to waste this time we have, either. I want to _be_ an us.”

Varric’s heart was pounding. She didn't sound drunk; she sounded sincere.  He wondered, vaguely, if he was in a dream and would find himself in a world of pain when he woke up from it.  “Hawke… this might be the stupidest thing we could ever do.”

She reached up to brush a hand across his cheek, fingertips dusting across his jaw.  “You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted, you idiot.  How haven’t you figured it out yet? I'm not going anywhere.”

Varric needed to hear nothing else.  His mouth lowered to hers without hesitation, relishing the soft moan that slipped from her lips.  Her hands ran across every stretch of skin she could reach, nails digging across his arms, lips hungrily moving against his.  One of her hands lowered to his smallclothes, tugging, but Varric moved her hand away.  She grumbled, and he laughed against her lips, pulling back long enough to whisper, “Eager is good.”

She chuckled, her voice throaty and rasping.  His cock twitched as her hand slid up its length to settle on his hip, nails gripping into the skin there.  His tongue wormed into her mouth, caressing across hers.  Her hips were beginning to move, her shapely thighs stroking themselves against one another, breathy noises falling from her mouth as she wriggled.  Varric pulled away only enough to start unwinding her breast band.  She arched her back, gasping, eyes closed as he tossed it aside and lowered his mouth to kiss the swell of her right breast, tongue sliding across the hard peak of her nipple.

“Varric,” she gasped, shuddering.  “Varric, I need you.”

“Not yet,” he purred, leaning over to lavish her other breast in his attentions.  She was gasping below him, her hips bucking, speeding up, her desire seeming close to drowning her.  “Hold on, sweetheart,” he teased between kisses that ran down her sternum, across the dip of her abdomen, the divot of her belly button.  

“Varric,” she whimpered.  “Please?”

Her smallclothes stopped his mouth, and he pulled away, sliding the strip of cloth from her, down her thighs and calves, tossing it to the floor.  He could smell her arousal before he’d even lowered his mouth to the tight, dark curls between her milky thighs.  He kissed across the short, dense hairs, tongue sliding between the slender slit, her hips bucking and pressing herself into him.  His tongue slid over the silken skin between her legs, tasting her for the first time, amazed that she was just as soft as he had imagined.  She was warm and savory; he found himself willing to stay between her thighs for as long as she would allow him.

One of her hands slid across his head, tugging at the tie that held his hair back.  She slid it out, letting his hair flutter around his face, fingers running through the golden strands, gripping tightly each time his tongue slid across her clit. She was making a gorgeous sound deep in her throat.  She sang like a wild animal, dark and dangerous.  There was nothing Varric would have rather heard at that moment and, to see if he could make the noises louder, he slid one of his thick, calloused fingers across her opening, coating it in her wetness.

Hawke let out a throaty growl that turned into a gasp of pleasure as he slid the finger into her tight passage, gently caressing over the smooth ridges inside of her.  Her pelvis pressed into his finger, moving against it.  Her motions made his ruminations on her clitoris more difficult, but he was never a dwarf that shied from a challenge.  He pressed his face into her, finding it harder to breathe but entirely worth it as he dragged her clitoris into his mouth, sucking gently while his tongue slid across the tip of the nub, making her shout and tense around him.

His finger sped up slightly, pressing into her deeper.  He could feel her orgasm building around her, could hear it in how her uneven breath was giving way to rhythmic moans, her hips sliding into him, fingers digging into his scalp. And then she was shuddering, her entire body bucking against him, her cries sharp and plentiful as she came, a wash of fluid coating his finger and tongue.  He drank her in, his finger slowing as it continued its attentions.

“Varric,” she groaned as soon as she was able to find her voice again.  Her hand dropped from his hair to grapple with his jaw, drawing it up and away from her sex.  “Get up here.”

Varric chuckled and lowered his face to her again, licking his way across her a few more times before doing as requested.  He moved up her slender body, his stocky one settling above her hips, leaning over her.  Hawke reached up and drew him down, her lips covering his, tongue sliding into his mouth.  She moaned against him, eyelids fluttering.  “You’re still dressed.”

He pulled back and smirked at her.  “So I am.”  She snorted and pushed him over onto his back, grabbing his smallclothes and sliding them off, lowering her mouth to his cock which was already yearning and thick with need.  She made a delighted noise as her tongue flicked across him, kissing along his shaft, face pressing into the coarse hair surrounding it. Her mouth descended on him, taking his cock in, sucking firmly, tongue slipping across the tip and making lights explode in front of Varric’s eyes.

Varric groaned and sat up to watch her, to run his fingers gently through her hair while her head bobbed, untiring, around him.  He was suddenly sure that there was nothing that the woman did poorly or half-heartedly.  One of his hands ran through her dark, short hair while the other caressed over the back of her neck, her upper back, anywhere he could reach. The tightness at the base of his cock was getting to be too much, and he gently pulled against Hawke’s shoulders.  “Hawke, stop.” Hawke did not stop, instead speeding up. “Hawke,” he growled hotly, tugging her off of him with more strength than he had expected to be able to muster.  His muddled brain and the need in his loins was making everything more difficult.

She leaned back on the disheveled sheets, smirking.  “What’s wrong, Varric?  Not wanting this chapter to end?”

“Not yet,” he confirmed, tossing her over and pulling her hips up slightly.  She angled herself perfectly for him, and he slid inside of her, nails gripping into her plump ass as he did, his longing escaping from his mouth in a sharp groan.  She moved back against him, her pelvis rocking into his.  He grabbed her hips and dragged her into him harder, loving the way she bucked and cried out, her back bowing, spine suddenly more visible against the thin skin between her slender muscles. Varric dragged his nails down her back, her moans sharpening.  She was losing the tempo, but Varric didn’t mind - he was too thrilled to have her there, to feel her, to be buried inside of her and listening to her pleasure spill from her lips.

“Harder,” Hawke begged, voice rasping between her panting.

“What was that, sweetheart?” Varric murmured, fingers tightening on her hips.  “I can’t quite hear you.”

She growled and snapped, “Harder!”

He slammed into her, faster and deeper than he probably should have, but Hawke didn’t seem to mind at all.  She tossed her head back, shaking her bangs from her face as she let out sharp mewls of gratification.  Her hips were speeding up, crashing back into him and making his breath hitch with need. Her passage tightened around him sharply, and her whimpers gave way to a loud, keening howl as she came, her body wracked in tremors.  Varric slowed his pace, allowing her to catch her breath before pulling out of her.  “Roll over,” he requested.  She did so slowly, still shuddering as she laid back, chest heaving.

Her legs wrapped around his waist, angling her body to allow him easier access as he slid between her legs, leaning over her and moving softly, slowly.  She smiled, arms encircling his neck, hips gently rocking into his.  She was at peace, her face serene, eyes full of something Varric almost thought was love.  He wasn’t going to press his luck and ask about it, though - not tonight, at least.

The pressure built at the base of his spine, spreading like a smoldering fire to his loins, making his gasp out with each press of her hips, at each squeeze of her muscular thighs around his waist.  He leaned down, the angle making him choke past the pleasure.  Hawke craned her neck up and captured his mouth with hers, tongue sliding across his lower lip.

He shuddered, coming in a rush, puffing into her neck as he collapsed onto her, forgetting that he might be hurting her, suffocating her. But her arms encircled him and held him to her as his mind slowly quieted, and he came down.  He kissed her collarbone as he pulled himself off of her, collapsing beside her on the bed.  Hawke chuckled softly, curling under his arm and murmuring, “I thought I would die of old age before I could convince you to make a woman out of me.”

He snorted, his arm wrapping around her shoulders and squeezing.  The thought of her not being a woman before him was laughable, given her talents.  Even so, her words pleased him.  “What can I say? I would have been a fool to deny you.”

She curled her face into his chest, a hand smoothing over his stomach.  Varric held her close, feeling his lids drooping. He knew sleep would overtake him shortly and, by the sound of Hawke’s deep breathing, she would succumb to it soon, as well.  Before he could fall asleep, though, he said, “Llomerryn.”

Hawke hummed, glancing up at him.  “Llomerryn?”

“We can leave for Hercinia tomorrow,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss her forehead.  “I know a captain there who can get us to Llomerryn in less than a week.  Spend some time going through the black market, spending our coin on fortune tellers or wine or leathers too beautiful to ever wear.”

Hawke giggled, pressing her face into his chest.  “Do you mean it?  Leave Kirkwall?”

“Why not?  The city could probably use a break from us,” he chuckled.  “And you could use a vacation on a nice island… well, a nice island that hosts almost anything illegal you could think of.”

Hawke made a soft noise in the back of her throat.  “Are there beaches?”

“There are,” he confirmed, rubbing her lean, muscular upper arm with his hand.  “You don’t even need to wear clothes on them.”

Hawke was quiet for so long that Varric thought she might have fallen asleep.  She pulled away from him, though, leaning in to kiss him deeply.  Her hand cupped his cheek as they kissed and, when they parted, her forehead pressed against his.  “Let’s go tomorrow,” she agreed.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! It's possible that I will do one more chapter, something cute and fluffy in Llomerryn, but I have some other things in the works so it might not be an immediate addition. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Have a fantastic day/night!


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